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A Dream 

Of 

Liberty 

A D R A M A IN 

ONE A CT a 

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Copyrighted by 

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1903. 



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VIOLA 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE, ETC. 

LEONARDO — A man forty-five years of age, pre- 
maturely gray. He has the bearing of a scholar com- 
bined with a vigorous frame, innured to hardship. 

^/V^'AY.. 4/(9— Leonardo's assistant, a young man, 
twenty-five years of age, a well favored, honest lad. 

F/(9Z.-^— Wife of Leonardo. Twenty years of age, 
a sweet, gentle woman. 

TIME — The opening of the 15th century. 

P/.^Ci5— Genoa, Italy. 

SCENE, — A plain room, simply furnished and used 
as work-shop and living-room. In the center stands a 
primitive printing-press, ow the left side a work -bench 
with tools, rollers, printing-ink, type, etc., on it. On the 
right side a table covered with manuscripts. A bencli 
and a few chairs complete the furnishings. There is a 
window in a deep embrasure on one side and a door on 
the other side of the rear wall of the room. 

It is assumed that Leonardo has anticipated Guten- 
berg in the invention of the printing-press. 

As curtain rises, Leonardo stands with hand resting 
on the frame uf the printing-press. Anselmo is busy at 
the vvork-]:)ench, and Viola is sitting in the window em- 
brasure sewing and paying little attention to Leonardo's 
speech. 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY 

Leonardo. 
{In an exalted mood, partly to himself and partly 

to Anselmo.) 
Our time has come ! Success shall crown the 

work 
So patiently pursued for many years. 
At last we've firmly joined the complex parts 
Of this machine, designed to manifold 
The priceless manuscripts containing the 
Forbidden teachings of man's natural rights. 
These we have planned to subtly propagate 
Among the slaving masses, prey to fears 
And subject to the tyranny which thrives 
On superstition, sloth and ignorance. 
Forbidden was free speech on penalty 
Of death, therefore did I engage myself 
To spread our doctrine by some other means. 
{Layi?ig hand on printhig-press.) 
This is the mightiest engine yet devised 
To serve the cause of liberty. For it 
Shall wield a pow'r far greater than 
Is exercised by pope or emperor — 
Though of this earth they are the mightiest. 
Through years I've planned and wrought in se- 
cret fear 
And constant dread, with watchful ear alert, 
To catch the sound of stealthy steps of s])ics, 
Who in the inquisition's service ply 



6 A DREAM OF UBERTY. 

Their loathsome trade. But ever I pushed on 
Through faihires crushing and innumerable, 
With courage fed by aims so vast, so high 
That naught could ever quench the holy fire 
Which aspiration kindled in my searching soul. 
And now that from unwilling fate I've wrung 
vSuccess and stand upon the threshold of 
An era new, created through my work, 
I say with heart sincere : This which I've done 
Was prompted, not by lust for wealth or power. 
Or fame, that might immortal make my name, 
But through desire to raise my fellow-man 
From his now low estate, advance him on 
The path of knowledge, teach him his rude 

strength 
So he might wring from brutal tyrant's grasp 
Some share of happiness, some share of the 
Fair goods the world doth hold for all, but which 
With avaricious insolence the few 
Have ever claimed as their sole heritage. 
(He goes to bench, takes up the ink-roller and 

blackens the type.) 
Lend me your hands, Anselmo, we shall test 
This new device. You turn the lever's arm 
While carefull}^ I black'n the metal's face, 
In order that each word stand clearly forth 
A bold accuser. ]\Iany a weary night 
We've poured the liquid, shimm'ring bronze into 
The molds, and then with graver's tools have cut 
The rough edged castings in the semblance of 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 7 

The letters used in standard manuscript. 
{As he speaks he places the form in the press.) 
We strove to make the page, not only plain 
To read, but fair to look upon ; 
For a fair page attracts the roving eye, 
And through the sense of sight doth soon engage 
The mind. Thus truth doth enter unaware. 
But stay ! Ere we do venture on this work 
I'll walk abroad to seek refreshment in 
The open air and thus compose my thoughts 
For our most glorious task. I'll soon return. 
Till then farewell true wife and trusted friend. 
(Leonakdo, zmth a fond look at his wife, after 
taking Anselmo by the hand, exits.) 
Viola. 
(After a pause.) 
Anselmo ! 

Anselmo. 
(Who has foil Give d Leonardo unth his eyes.) 

Oh, Viola! it doth fill 
Me with sliarp torment when I hear him thus 
Speak his high confidence in us and feel 
Our secret burn within this wretched breast. 

Viola. 
Anselmo! 

Anselmo. 

Wretched only in the false 
Position fate has thrust upon us two. 
Ah, mv beloved, that we ne'er had met ! 



8 A DREAM OF I.IBERTY. 

Viola. 
Anselmo! 

Anselmo. 
{Going to Viola and kneeling beside her.) 

Pray forgive the bitterness 
Of my most wretched mood to-night. 
For 'tis not always thus, and often I forget 
That this fair world doth hold aught but the love 
Which, dearest woman, has enthralled our hearts 
Beyond desire to make it otherwise. 

Viola. 
My poor Anselmo ! 'Twere better far 
That your affection had, more wisely, sought 
A woman free to love and to be loved. 
For I, too, sorely feel our life a wrong, 
Unfair to him who fully trusts us both. 
I deeply venerate, aye love him too, 
For he doth hold me high beyond my worth. 
I love hmi for his gentle, gracious self ; 
I love him for his watchful care of me, 
Though he be wrapt in thoughts beyond my ken ; 
But you, dear man, I love as doth a maid 
Her first young lover. 

Anselmo. 

Ah, \' iola dear ! 

Viola. 
I wed Leonardo when, a child, I knew 
Not what a woman's love did mean, nor knew 
The world, except as I had seen it from afar 
As I looked through my narrow window's frame 





With him I've led a lonely life, for he, 
Engrossed in work, does seldom notice me. 

ragf g. 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 9 

Into the market-place below. I had 
No mother and no father who could guide 
My steps and, feeling that a burden I 
Might be to those who sheltered grudgingly 
A girl, I w^elcomed Leonardo's suit. 
{She rises and sloivly zvalks away from An- 
sel aio.) 
With him I've led a lonely life, for he, 
Engrossed in work, does seldom notice me. 

Anset.mo. 
(Rising and foUoiving \io\..\.) 
Thus T did find you here in dull content 
And rudely broke the tranquil tenor of your life ; 
Thus, but for me, you never would have known 
This agony. 

Viola, 
{Turning and facing Anselaio.) 

No, no ! Believe me, dear, 
Could I with magic word revive the days 
Before you came, forever should my lips 
Be sealed. At night wdien I lie stark awake 
A wondrous fearsome joy doth flood my soul. 
Then all I do forget but this, my love 
For you. I do believe such ecstasy 
Is given to women that it compensate 
For their great sufferings. 

Anselmo. 

Alas, 
Content dwells not in our unhappy state. 
But who would choose a dull, contented life 



10 A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 

When in the brilhant glory of an hour 

He feels himself the heir to all the joy 

The human race has known through countless 

years ? 

Viola. 
(Standing zvitJi back to 7vork-hench.) 
I do remember well the day you came 
And offered Leonardo your young strength. 
I sat in yonder window and you took 
No notice of me, but an inner voice 
Whispered to me : ''A change has come into 
Your life, and never more 'twill be as it 
Has been." But you would keep head bent on 

work, 
Nor dared so much as cast one glance as if 
Aware of danger. So 'twas long before 
You spoke to me, and then with looks cast down. 
Was I so fearsome in your eyes ? 
{She has nozu approached Anselmo and they 

face each other across the printing-press.) 
Anselmo. 

You jest. 
From the first day when your sweet face I saw 
The vision of it never left me free. 
I look upon the pages of great books, 
Illumined with exquisite ancient art^ 
Only to see your gentle features there. 
Your image ever floats before my eyes 
Like vision of some fair and holy saint, 
Nor have I power to banish it and bring 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 11 

My thoughts upon my daily task, for it 
Dotli from my heart and mind exclude all else. 

VlOi.A. 

{Sit fillip on bcucii.) 

I fear, dear boy, it is not me you love, 

But a fair creature by your fancy wrought. 

Ansklmo. 
(Sifs beside Viola.) 
To you, sweet woman, I owe my fancies all. 

VroLA. 
(After a pause.) 

Do you recall this day a week a^^^o, 
When we first walked along the shore? 

AxsFr.MO. 
]t was the hour when merges day in night 
And twilight peace encompassed sea and land. 
In that deep silence our two spirits met 
And ]:)ledged their troth for all eternity. 
(Tliey look into eaeli others eyes until Viola 
looks dozi'n.) 

Viola. 
(Risin^<:[ and leaviui^ Ansi-:lmo, after a pause.) 
Yet we must part in outward semblance, nor 
By word or look betray our hapless love, 
Nor shall it live except in memory. 

Anselato. 
(Risino^ and folloiving Vicn^A.) 
No, no, I cannot bear it ; youth rebels 
At such a sacrifice! God meant us for 
Each other ! Flee with me, A'iola. Come. 
(He takes Viola in his arjns.) 



12 A DREAM OF LIBERTY, 

Viola. 
{Gently disoigaging herself.) 
Anselmo I Were I weak enough to yield 
Your sense of justice all too soon 
Would rise and stand between us and all joy. 

Anselmo. 
{Seizing Viola's hands.) 
Come with me, love! I'll ne'er repent the step. 

Viola. 
Believe me, I know best, dear. I have thought 
Of nothing else this week. I've lain awake 
All night in bitter tears, until at last 
I saw the right. Ah, do believe me, I 
Know best. 

Anselmo. 

I cannot, cannot give you up, 
Viola. 
{Trying to disengage her hands.) 
Dear boy, I'm but a loving woman ; try 
My strength not too severely. 
Anselmo. 
(After a pause, ivith higJi resolve.) 

No! I'll be 
A man worthy so pure a love. Farewell. 
(Leonardo enters.) 

This kiss — our last — farewell, my soul, farewell. 
{They gently kiss, then feeling Leonardo's pres- 
ence, quietly part. Leonardo, ivith hands 
behind his back, regards Anselmo steadily.) 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. K5 

{faltcringly.) 

'Twas all my fault Viola kissed mc now— 
I said she must on peril of her life. 
{He pauses. Leonardo remains silent.) 
1 swear that I'm alone to blame for what 
You've seen, for she is free of thought of wrong. 
She knew not how my ardor to resist (pause). 
Speak, man! look silent not upon me with 
Those eyes inscrutable that search my soul. 
Know! i alone have wronged your trusting heart 
And stand prepared to suffer punishment- 
Aye, take my life — 'tis yours — but harm her not. 
(He pauses, but Leonardo remains silent, still 

fixedly regardini:^ liim.) 
I cannot bear your silent, deep contenipt. 
Say that you loathe, detest, abhor the man 
Who thus betrayed your noble confidence. 
I will endure your anger and reproach, 
But blame not her— she's innocent of wrong. 
(He pauses again, but Leonardo remains silent.) 
In heaven's name speak ! Stare not at me with 
those accusing eyes that hold a depth of woe. 
Leonardo. 
( Qidetly. ) 
Go! 

Anselmo. 
You wish me to depart ? I will not leave 
Her to your wrath. 

Viola. 
Anselmo. you must go. 



U A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 

I^EONARDO. 

Go! 

Viola. 
I beg of yon to go. I fear him not. 
Anselmo. 
I cannot leave you thus with him alone. 

Viola, 
Dear friend, farewell. I may not see you more. 

Anselmo. 
My God ! I cannot leave. 

Viola. 

For my sake, go. 
Go now ; it is my wish. 
(Anselmo leaves in despair.) 

Ah, he is safe! 
(Viola watches Leonardo in great fear.) 

Leonardo. 
(After a pause, quietly but Urmly.) 
Viola, speak ! 

Viola. 
iStiibhornly.) 

What would you of me now ? 
Leonardo. 
The truth. 

Viola. 
There's naught to tell. 
Leonardo. 

The truth. 
Viola. 
Tease me no longer ; do with me your will ; 
Defense I have none. 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 15 

Leonardo. 

Try not my temper ; 
I would not harm you — still I fear myself. 
Be patient with me — that is all I ask — 
That and the truth ; but do not raise my ire, 
For the fierce madness, the inheritance of man 
Whose forebears held a woman as a slave 
Or chattel, might now drive me to a deed 
That I would sore repent. All that I ask 
Of you is this : Tell me the truth — you love 
Anselmo ? Speak ! 

\'jOUA. 

(rioggcdly.) 

There's naught 1 would confess. 

Leonardo. 

Then by hell's furies, woman, I will teach 

(Contrals himself with great effort, then speaks 

iviih infinite patience.) 
Viola, listen! For I speak to you 
Not as a man who feels himself outraged 
By conduct wrongful and unjust to him. 
But as one wdio would reach your very soul. 
The mind is like a liouse with many rooms 
To all 01 wdiich, but one, another's thoughts 
May enter. But that one is always locked. 
There dwells the soul in solitude. Admit 
Me to vour soul this once — for knmv 
Of vengeance Fve no tlKuight. and only wish 
To understand. 



16 A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 

Viouv. 
{Realhiug Leonardo's attitude toward her, 
breaks doivn and falls at Jiis feet.) 
Oh, pity me and pray 
Forgive. 

Leonardo. 
(Sits on bench and raises Viola to her knees 
beside him.) 

Then tell me all. 
Viola. 

I'll try. 
'Tis dinficiilt, for I do hardly know 
Myself how it did come ahoiit. I willed 
Always to live for you, to whom I owe 
A world of gratitude. 

Leonardo. 

Speak not of that. 
Viola. 
I was content to watch you in your work. 
You know you seldom left your realm of dreams 
And spoke to me. 

Leonardo. 

Ah, there 'tis where I failed — 
Forgot that you must crave companionship. 
Go on. 

Viola. 
Anselmo came. I never shall 
Forget the day — you draw away ; 
1 would not pain you, hut }'0u asked the truth. 




; and when 
We turned from that grand spectacle we saw 
The glory of it in each other's eyes. 

Page I J 



A DREAM OF UBI^RTY. 17 

LEONARDO. 

(Controlling himself.) 
Go on. 

Viola. 
I do believe that love was Iwrn 
Within us that same day, though neither seemed 
To realize the change. 

Leonardo. 

When did you speak? 
Viola. 
A week ago you willed that he and I 
Should walk beside the sea, and then remarked 
How pale and wan I looked and that I must 
Breathe deeply of the salty air. Near by 
Sampier-darena's shore we sat, and there 
Forgot the past, forgot all but ourselves — 
You draw away again ! 

Leonardo. 
(Controlling his grief.) 

No, no, go on. 
(He lifts Viola to the bench beside him.) 

Viola. 
It was the hour of sunset. As we gazed 
The splendor of that sea and sky sank deep 
Into our souls. Ah, then we knew ; and when 
We turned from that grand spectacle we saw 
The glorv of it in each other's eyes. 
But I have hurt you. 

Leonardo. 
(Rising and speaking ivith diffienlfy.) 

Tell me, tell me all. 



18 A DREAM OF LIBP:rTY. 

Viola. 
There is not much to tell : that hour last week 
And what you saw to-day — there is no more. 
We had not spoken since, for we have had 
No opportunity. There is no more. 
And there shall be no more. Leonardo, pray 
Forgive, forgive us both. 
{She kneels at Leonardo's feet.) 

Leonardo. 
(Raises her, then after a pause.) 

Forgive! Ah^ child, 
If that were all, to say ''I will forgive," 
And thus wipe out the past, 'twere quickly done. 
For you I do not blame. An occult pow'r 
Doth rule our fate, a pow'r to which a king 
A knight, a pawn but pieces are in some 
Great game whose rules we cannot comprehend. 
Think not, howev'r, I lightly hold the loss 
Of your dear love, though I've not cherished it ; 
For as I labored, knowing to be found 
With these betraying evidences all 
About the place, in face of warnings oft 
Repeated, meant most certain, painful death, 
Your gentle presence saved me from despair. 
Nor have I ever dreamt success was mine 
Without this thought: My wife! She'll share 

with me 
The joy of having freed my fellow-man. 
I plainly see I should have told you this 




Forgive! Ah, child, 
If that were all, to sav "I will fors^ive," — 



Fa^ye /6\ 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 19 

And bound your thoughts to mine, in my great 

aims, 
So firmly that they never could have strayed. 
■j\Iy silence brought its punishment indeed. 

Viola. 
(Betzvecn her sobs.) 

Blame not yourself, Leonardo, for your charity 
To my grave fault doth humble me beneath 
Your feet. I am not worthy, gen'rous man, 
To share your life. Alas, it is not given 
The wren to follow the swift eagle in his flight. 
But this I promise, if, in your broad charity. 
In spite of all that's passed, you still will yield 
To me an humble place beneath your roof, 
No servant true would gently minister 
To your necessities more faithfully 
Than I. Thus could you follow undisturbed 
Your own exalted aims. Thus I would share, 
In lowly fashion, in your work if you 
Would let me. 

{She is about to prostrate herself ai^aiji, but 
Leonardo prei'ents it and talces her in Jus 
arms.) 

Leonardo. 
Peace be with you, child ! 
You shall remain. 
(Steps ore heard.) 

Whose steps are those? 
Anselmo. 
(Enters, breathless.) 

Tliev come. 



20 A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 

Leonardo. 
Who comes ? 

Anselmo. 
The servants of the Church. 
Leonardo. 

My God! 
How know you this? 

Anselmo. 

I heard them ask the way 
As I passed by ; then by another route 
I ran at utmost speed to warn you. Flee 
Before it is too late. 

Leonardo. 

Some one betrayed 
Us to our enemies. 

Anselmo. 

It was Maretti. 
Leonardo. 

No! 

You He ! 

Anselmo. 
No, no, Leonardo. It was he 
Who led the officers. 

Leonardo. 

Maretti, whom 
I've hekl alcove all others and who knows 
Our inmost thoughts!— This is the end. 
Anselmo. 

Waste not 
The precious moments. Let us flee while there's 
Yet time. 



A DREAM OF I^IBERTY. 21 

Leonardo. 
{Lost in thought, speaking as if to himself.) 
This is the end of all my hopes. 
Viola. 
Leonardo, come. I will not go unless 
You go with us. Leonardo, come, I pray. 

Leonardo. 
No longer would I live. My work is o'er. 
Dead are my dreams of a regenerated world. 
{With a look at Viola.) 
Dead is my dream of love. 
Viola. 

Leonardo ! 
Leonardo. 

Pray 
Forgive that touch of bitterness. But you , 

Viola and Anselmo are both young, 
Too young to die. Leave me and add not to 
My suffering the thought that I have drawn 
You to your death. 

Anselmo. 
{At ii'indozv.) 

It is too late. The guards 
Surround the house. 

Leonardo. 
( Speaking quiekly. ) 

Too late for me, but not 
For you. The guards will let you pass. Go ere 
They find you here with me. I pray you, go! 



22 A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 

Viola. 
I shall remain. 

Anselmo. 
And I. 
Viola. 

We humbly beg 
To share your fate. 

Anselmo. 
To flee and li\'e, 'twould be 
Dishonor. 

Leonardo. 
Ah, so be it then ; I do 
Accept your noble sacrifice. We'll meet 
Our fate together — we — we three. But this 
Machine, our toil's poor offspring, planned to 

lead 
Men on to liberty, must be destroyed. 
Help me, Anselmo, lest our enemies 
Use our discovery for their own base ends. 
{Speaks the following as they destroy the print- 
ing-press, molds, etc.) 
Thus by my own hands perish shall the work 
To which I've given my youth, my manhood's 

strength, 
All I've possessed, in truth, my very life. 
In fragments here it lies an image fit 
Of wasted hours, of ruined hopes. Ah me ! 
Vain, foolish dreamer — dreamer, nothing more. 
Yet this which I have wrought and nowVe de- 
stroyed, 
In faith, is neither dead nor lost, for rare 



A DREAM OF LIBERTY. 23 

Inventions are the products of their time, 

Prone to be born in divers searching minds. 

I do believe, in less ill-fated hands 

Our work, betimes, shall nobly prosper and 

Fulfill its liberating destiny. 

By this exalted creed we'll stand to meet 

Our fate with high resolve. 

(Leonardo, who is standiug betzvcen Anselmo 
and Viola, turns to Viola aiid takes her 
hand.) 

Viola. 

Ah, yes! We three. 

{She looks at Anselmo, then at Leonardo. Le- 
onardo, after a searching look at Anselmo, 
ivhich gradually softens, holds out his hand 
to him, which Anselmo impulsively grasps. 
Leonardo stands holding Viola's hand on 
one side and Anselmo's on the other, when 
a loud knocking on the door is heard. Leon- 
ardo goes to the door and pulls hack the 
bolt.) 

Leonardo. 

(Throwing door zvide open.) 

Enter. 

{The masked familiars of the inquisition are seen 
standing in the hallway beyond the door.) 

CURTAIN. 



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